WS1 Writer's Block
by Denise Felt
Summary: When a UFO crashes on a small island in the Atlantic, Commander Straker is forced to deal directly with the island's owner: a romance writer.


**Writer's Block**

**(A UFO Story)**

by Denise Felt 2010

_A Challenge Story for the SHADO Writers' Guild_

_Dedicated to Dragon, who always thinks of the best ideas first!_

**Chapter 1**

The rain slammed against the windshield, driven by the fierce winds. Commander Straker tightened his grip on the steering wheel and kept going, even though visibility was less than a foot past his headlights. He would have known the way blindfolded, since he drove it every day to and from work. But somehow tonight it seemed both less familiar and a much longer route in the midst of the storm. He was grateful that he only lived twelve miles from the studio.

When he finally arrived at the front gate, security waved him through with only the barest hint of checking his ID. At another time, he would have torn a strip off their hides for such laxity; but he was quite aware that they just wanted to get out of the awful weather. And who could blame them? Fortunately for him, the front entrance to the main studio building had an overhang, so he didn't get wet when he got out of his car. But the security guard who took his keys to park it for him would not be so lucky.

Sometimes it paid to be boss.

Not often, though. Like tonight, being called out of the first sound sleep he'd had in four days for an alert. Normally, he knew he could count on Col. Lake to handle anything the aliens threw at them during the night shift. Why else would he keep her on nights? But this attack had been so erratic that she'd felt the need to contact him. Their radar had already lost track of the UFO twice, and there was no guarantee that they'd be able to track it in the atmosphere long enough to destroy it. She'd left the decision up to him whether he wanted to brave the elements to check it out for himself. But he was intrigued – and wanted to know what the aliens were trying now, storm or no storm.

So, here he was in the middle of the night, heading down the concrete corridors toward the Control room of SHADO HQ instead of asleep in his bed, trying to see if they could – once more – stop Earth's worst enemy from getting the upper hand.

"Commander!" Col. Lake said as he entered the Control room. "Thank you for coming."

"What is the situation, Colonel?" he asked as he came up to radar.

"We've launched Sky 1," she told him. "And we're hoping like hell we don't lose track of the UFO again."

"How long till intercept?"

Lt. Ford answered from his position at radar. "Two minutes, sir."

Straker turned to Col. Lake. "Are your fingers crossed, Colonel?"

She gave him a wry smile. "And my toes!"

"Then we're in good shape," he said, watching the radar over Ford's shoulder.

"Sky 1 to SHADO HQ." Capt. Carlin's voice came over the speaker.

The commander got on the microphone. "We read you, Captain. Go ahead."

"I have the UFO on positive track and am closing in on the coordinates."

"Excellent!" Straker said. "Visibility?"

The captain radioed back. "I've got a lot of cloud cover; but even if I can't see it, the radar will."

Straker exchanged a worried glance with Col. Lake. "Don't lose it, Captain."

"No, sir. Coming into visible range. I have a radar fix. Locking missile onto target. Firing missile." There was silence for a moment. Then he came back on. "Detonation positive. The UFO has been hit. Commander, I still can't see it, but it's showing up on radar. It's going down fast. I'll try to follow it and get a fix on where it crashes."

"Thank you, Captain." Straker turned from the microphone and asked Col. Lake, "Where is he?"

"Over the Atlantic," she replied, showing him on the map laid out on a nearby console. "If the UFO crashes into the ocean, we may never retrieve it."

Straker turned to Lt. Ford. "Have Skydiver head in that direction to rendevous with Sky 1. If any debris can be found, we want to be able to recover it quickly, before it goes too deep."

"Yes, sir." The lieutenant contacted the submarine and relayed the commander's instructions. After a few minutes, he turned back to the commander. "They're on their way, sir."

"Good."

"Sky 1 to SHADO HQ," Peter Carlin radioed.

"What have you got, Captain?" Straker asked him over the mike.

"The UFO crashed onto a small island, sir. Here are the coordinates." And he rattled off the longitude and latitude of the island.

"Good job, Captain. Skydiver will be entering the area in a few minutes to rendezvous with you."

"Thank you, sir. Sky 1, out."

The commander turned to Ford. "Find out what country has jurisdiction over that island. I want clearance as soon as possible to bring in the mobiles. Get the president or king or whatever out of bed, if necessary. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." The lieutenant wisely kept his sigh to himself. Contacting foreign dignitaries was never a treat, and contacting them in the wee hours of the morning was even less of one. But a downed UFO was not something the natives of a small island should ever have to deal with, so he adjusted his headset and got on the phone.

When Lt. Ford pulled off his headset in disgust and ran his hands over his face, Virginia Lake came over to radar and handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee.

He took it with a brief thanks, but said after gulping down a swallow or two, "I appreciate it, Colonel. But didn't you just pour this for you?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But you looked like you needed it more than me. What's up?"

He gave a heavy sigh. "Commander Straker wants to know which country has jurisdiction over that island."

"And I take it that there's a problem in finding out who's in charge?"

"Oh, no! Not in the least!" he said bitterly. "I've got _three_ countries willing to state categorically that they have jurisdiction over it!"

She frowned. "It looks like it's part of the Bahamas on the map."

"Yes, that's one of the countries," Ford said more calmly. "But it's too far east of their chain and is privately owned. They have 'relations' with the owner, but refuse to make any decisions for them. Cuba is south of the island and further away, but they're willing to say they're in charge, as well."

"But they aren't?" she guessed from his tone.

Ford shook his head in disgust. "They don't even have relations with the owner, let alone any control over them."

Col. Lake said, "And the third country?"

The lieutenant sighed again. "The US."

She raised a brow at this. "Why? They'd be even further away."

"Yeah," he admitted. "But the owner of the island is an American, so . . ."

"I see. And they have no control either?"

He shook his head. "Colonel, Commander Straker wants to get clearance for the mobiles to move in, but no one seems to be able to give it. I'm not sure what to tell him."

She met his worried look for a moment, then patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Keith. I'll give him the news."

"Thanks," he said gratefully, then seemed to realize what position that put her in. "Listen, Colonel. I can tell him myself . . ."

But she shook her head. "No, it's alright. He's less likely to yell at me."

As she headed for Straker's office, Ford fervently hoped that she was right about that.

When she entered Straker's HQ office, he was on the phone. And spitting mad.

"I don't care what you've been told, Lieutenant! You get that transport in the air in the next thirty minutes or you'll be answering to _me_. Understand?" He hung up the phone on the sputtering answer and turned to where Col. Lake stood just inside the room. He looked at her for a minute in silence, then said in a somewhat calmer voice, "I'll put up with a certain measure of inefficiency . . ."

"You will?" she asked, widening her eyes in assumed shock.

His lips twitched, but he continued. "Well, a small amount. But what I will not tolerate is black marketeering!" He ran a tired hand over his eyes, then said, "You have news for me?"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "It'll keep. What are they trying to smuggle in now?"

Straker huffed and sat back in his chair. "Peaches, for godsake!"

Virginia raised a brow. "I'm assuming that's by Col. Cochran's orders." She knew the colonel's penchant for hothouse fruit of all kinds.

"Yes," the commander said, his brow darkening again. "And he'll be hearing from me next, I assure you! Damn it! The entire planet hangs in the balance every day, and these men want to play games!"

"Fairly profitable games, from what I've heard," she replied.

He ground his teeth. "That only makes it worse, Colonel."

She shrugged. "I'm not agreeing with them, Commander. But it is a long-standing military tradition."

"Not in this organization!" he asserted tersely.

Wisely, she said nothing. If he meant to go after all the black marketeers that worked behind the scenes of their global organization, he'd end up a lot more weary than he was now. And not much further ahead either. There were just too many supply clerks willing to make an extra buck to keep track of them all.

As she turned to leave the office, he said, "Didn't you have something to tell me?"

"We can discuss it later," she said.

He stared at her for a while, his blue eyes piercing and intent, then abruptly got up from his chair behind the desk and went over to the coffee pot near the conference table. As he lifted the pot to pour himself a cup of fresh coffee, he raised a brow at her. "Some?"

"Sure." She resigned herself to dealing with the situation and sat down as he passed her a cup.

Once he was behind his desk once more, he took a refreshing drink from his cup. Then he sat back and looked at her. "Alright, Colonel. What's the problem? I promise not to lose my temper."

She smiled wryly as she sipped her coffee. Straker's coffee was a much better brew than could be found in the rest of HQ, and she was savoring the rare opportunity of getting to enjoy some of it. "That's a pretty big promise, Commander. You haven't heard the problem yet."

"I'll take my chances, Colonel," he said.

"Alright. There doesn't seem to be a country that has jurisdiction over the island, although the Bahamian government does admit to having 'relations' with the island's owner."

He frowned. "No one's claiming it? That's unheard of!"

"Actually, three countries are claiming it," she corrected. "But none of them carry any weight."

"I see." He thought for a minute. "Then I suppose our next step is to contact the owner directly."

"Is that wise, sir?" she asked, somewhat surprised that he would consider the direct approach.

Unexpectedly, he grinned. "Oh, most assuredly, Colonel. You see, our studio cover will come in very handy in this situation."

"Really?" She had no idea how.

"It's simple," he said. "Over eighty-five percent of the private owners of islands are film people: actors, directors, or producers."

She started to smile. "Then the odds are in our favor that we can at least get on the island and talk to them."

"Exactly. Find out who owns that island, Colonel. I have a feeling that the studio is going to want to do a film with them very soon."

"Yes, sir." She stood up and headed for the door.

"By the way," he said. "Why are you the one to tell me about this? I asked Ford to get the information for me."

She just looked at him.

After a moment, he said, "Oh. I see. Well, you were very brave to take his place, Colonel."

Virginia gave him a small smile. "I was relying on your gentlemanly qualities."

His brow raised. "I have those?"

"A few," she conceded.

His lips twitched, but then he said, "That reminds me." And as she left the office, he picked up the phone to contact Col. Cochran about thirty cases of contraband peaches.

**Chapter 2**

"Her name is Anna Sophia Felt, and she was born in Illinois . . ." That was all the further she got before the commander groaned. "What? Don't tell me you know her?"

He ran a weary hand over his eyes. "Not personally, Colonel. But she is well known in the film community. She's a writer. Writes romances – tons of them! Manages to stay on the bestseller list throughout the year, and has even had a few of her novels made into movies."

"Then you're right, and the studio can approach her."

He shook his head. "Only if we want to look like idiots. Our studio is far too small to interest her for a movie made from one of her novels. She's used to dealing with the top three American studios whenever a script is written from her work. She'd only laugh if we approached her."

Virginia said, "Well, there must be something we can do! Surely there's a way around her? Some vanity that she has that we can appeal to? I mean, most of these people are fixated on something or other, aren't they?"

His lips twitched at her tone. "Why, Colonel. I had no idea you understood them so well. Especially since you stay away from the studio as if we were all infected with the plague."

She grinned ruefully. Her low opinion of actors, directors, and the rest of the fools that worked topside at the studio was well-known after nearly eight years working at HQ. She just didn't get their mentality – nor did she want to. She was a scientist. She had no patience for such foolishness.

He thought for a moment, then said, "But you may have hit on something. Dig deeper on her. I want to know why she lives on that island and any organizations she's set up or donated to since moving there."

"Ah!" she said, catching on. "She might be one of those naturalists, bent on saving the dolphins or something."

"Exactly."

"How will that help us?"

He smiled. "Well, our studio may be small, but we specialize in making documentaries. I'm sure she'd speak to us if we were willing to champion her pet project."

Her grey eyes twinkled. "You know, sir. I am constantly relieved that you're on the side of good. You're just too devious to let live otherwise."

She surprised a chuckle out of him. "Why, Colonel! Was that a compliment?"

She actually blushed as she shook her head and left the office.

"Good grief! What's that?" Alec asked as he looked over his commander's shoulder at the computer screen. "It looks like a turtle."

"It_ is_ a turtle," Straker said.

Alec shook his head at his friend and poured himself a drink from the corner dispenser in Straker's office. "I suppose you'll tell me why you're looking at turtles. Don't tell me the aliens have found a way to use them to destroy mankind?"

"If so," the commander replied, "they're doomed to failure. Turtles for the most part are non-aggressive."

Col. Freeman settled himself into a chair in front of the desk. "Okay. I'll bite. Why are you studying turtles?"

"Ever heard of Anne Felt?"

His old friend grunted into his drink. "Hell, yes! Isn't she that romance writer who put it into everyone's head that they deserved some romance in their life and shouldn't settle for less?"

Straker grinned. "The very same. I wasn't sure you'd heard of her, Alec. Did she make it harder for you to pick up a companion for the night?"

"Yeah, you can laugh. You have no social life! So, tell me what turtles – and ugly ones at that – have to do with a bestselling romance writer?"

"Well, it just so happens that our downed UFO crashed into the island in the Atlantic that she owns, and we're going to have to go out there and speak to her to get clearance to take care of the problem."

"No! No way!" Alec said at once. "You are not sending me out there to schmooze with that harpy. I won't do it!"

Straker's brows raised at his vehemence. "She must have really put a damper on your love life, Alec." His friend just grunted in reply, scowling into his drink. The commander said, "But for your information, I'm going."

"You?" Freeman looked startled. "Now, Ed. You know it's not safe for you to go off on your own. If it's not aliens after you, it's groupies and autograph hounds. Tell me you're going to take some security with you." He waited a beat. "Tell me, Ed!"

The commander sighed. Sometimes his old friend was even more paranoid than he was – and that was saying a lot. "Fine. I'll take Foster. He's not as good a bodyguard as Col. Lake, but at least he's used to handling studio business. Will that make you happy, Mother?"

Alec grinned, relieved that he hadn't needed to fight with the commander over it. Sometimes his old friend was blind to just how important he was to the planet. "Quite happy. And be sure to take your favorite blankie with you. You'll miss it if you don't."

Straker chuckled. "Shut up, Alec!" he said fondly.

Freeman just grinned at him. He sipped his drink in silence for a few moments, then complained, "But I still don't know why you're looking at turtles!"

"Not just any turtle, Alec," the commander explained. "The hawksbill turtle. A critically endangered sea turtle that makes its habitat in the Atlantic Ocean, among other places."

"Oh, I get it!" Alec said. "And Miss Felt likes these ugly critters."

"Exactly."

"Ed," Col. Freeman said. "You're wearing your I'm-about-to-cause-some-serious-trouble smile. What are you up to now?"

"Not a thing, Alec. I'm off to visit Miss Felt to offer her a documentary deal on her beloved turtles, guaranteeing her global distribution of the finished film."

"I don't know," his friend said. "I don't feel good about this. Maybe I should tag along instead of Paul. Keep you out of trouble."

"That would be even worse than having Col. Lake with me!" Straker said. "How would I get her cooperation with you sitting there scowling at her the whole time?"

"I'll be at my most charming."

The commander actually considered it for a moment, staring into those dark brown eyes. Then he said, "No. I need you to stay here and keep things running smoothly while I'm gone. Foster will do."

Alec sighed, giving up. "Alright. But don't blame me if you find yourself in hot water."

"Am I that incompetent, Alec, that I can't handle anything without you there?" Straker asked, only half-joking.

"No, Ed! It's not that. It's just that you're too . . ." _Nice_, he thought. He might be the hard-ass commanding officer of the most elite military defense force on the planet, but under that harsh exterior was a very different man – a quiet, helpful, generous man. The kind of man people instinctively turned to for assistance. Consequently, those who worked with him upside at the studio saw a whole other Straker than those who worked with him eighty feet below the studio in HQ. And the studio Straker was not who was needed in dealing with a spinster romance writer with delusions of changing the world. The situation called for the hard-ass Straker of HQ, at the very least.

"I'm too what?" the commander asked, made curious by Alec's silence.

But the colonel shook his head. "Just promise me you won't offer her royalties from the film, Ed. She's rich enough without that."

"Alright. I promise. Any other instructions?"

"Yeah. Don't forget that blankie!"

They flew to the Bahamas using a company jet, which ensured that they got there quickly and safely. For a small studio, their transportation department was top-notch. Of course, if anyone had bothered to look closely, it might seem odd for them to have access to state of the art military technology and weaponry in their company jets. But no one had ever had the opportunity to look that close – not without being unable later to give any details about their trip.

Col. Foster sat on one of the comfortable seats in the jet and stared out the nearest window at the clouds. His laptop sat idly in his lap, waiting for him to return to his work on Skydiver upgrade evaluations. He'd spent the past six weeks under the various oceans of the Earth, checking on the progress of the latest upgrades to sonar and tactical onboard SHADO's fleet of submarines. It had been a honey of an assignment, and one that suited his mercurial temperament perfectly. But the paperwork resulting from his findings did not suit him at all. He hated it. Consequently, the commander was breathing down his neck wanting the report while he scrambled to finish it on time. Which he also hated.

But he was pleased to be included in this undercover assignment. He was probably going to be bored silly pretending to film a bunch of turtles for the next week or so, but at least he'd be at the beach. That had to be a plus. White sands, nubile native women. Yeah, he could get behind that plan easily enough. Who wouldn't?

He looked over at his commander in the opposite seat. Straker had evidently finished reading reports and was now doing something so odd that Paul couldn't help but comment on it.

"You're reading a romance?"

Straker looked over the top of the hardback at him, one brow raised in inquiry. "Why not?"

Paul sputtered. "They're smut!"

His commander gave him a small, inexplicable smile. "Perhaps," he conceded. "But it's fairly entertaining smut."

Paul just blinked at him in bewilderment.

Straker sighed. Col. Foster had his uses, but those didn't include a flexible mind. "This is one of Anne Felt's novels."

"Okay," Foster said, still at sea.

"You can learn a great deal about a writer by reading what they choose to write about," his commander explained patiently. He almost added, "And how they write about it," but didn't want to confuse the colonel even more.

Paul was looking skeptically at the book. "What did you learn?"

That the woman they were going to see had a deeply passionate nature and an intense love of words. That she had very strong views on love and fidelity and absolutely no tolerance for fools or liars. That she saw people very clearly, which could hardly be comfortable for her. But somehow, she preferred to focus on their more noble attributes rather than their many faults. That they were going to have one hell of a time pulling anything over eyes that were that keen or a mind that was that resolute.

But the commander said none of that out loud. Instead he said, "We'll need to watch our step with her. She's quick, and it wouldn't take her long to start putting two and two together if we're not particularly careful."

"Oh." Foster thought about that for a minute. Then he said, "There's always the amnesia drug."

"Yes," Straker said with a sigh. "And we'll keep that option in reserve. However, in the meantime, we need her to be willing to cooperate with us. She can either make our mission easy or extremely difficult. I don't know about you, Colonel, but I much prefer easy."

**Chapter 3**

They took a SHADO helicopter from Nassau, the capital island of the Bahamas. An unmarked one, of course. But it had all the bells and whistles of their others. Straker let Paul fly, knowing that the younger man would be more than ready for a chance to do some hands-on after their long flight. Straker contented himself with sitting in the copilot seat and watching the ocean pass below as they headed east – toward Miss Felt's island.

As they approached, he could make out several large hills, a few villages in the valley areas, and a circular landing spot a few miles inland. He pointed it out to Paul, who nodded and banked toward it. When the chopper got closer to it, they could see a ragged swath of land nearby that had been recently torn up by some calamity, with trees fallen and damaged in its path. The two men exchanged glances. They'd seen trails like that before.

Without having to be told, Foster marked down the GPS coordinates of the spot. Then he flew the chopper to where the concrete circle was set up for them. As they shut down their engines and removed their headgear, Paul said, "No ship in the debris."

"I noticed." Commander Straker's lips were compressed into a thin line. But he was looking through the windshield at the welcoming committee that had come to meet them. A woman stood between two native children on the dirt track leading away from the landing area. And even at this distance, it was obvious that she was stunning.

"Do you think it blew itself up?" Paul asked as they grabbed their gear and hopped out.

"Hard to say at this point," Straker said tersely. "But I want that site checked out today. Find a way, won't you?"

"Sure." Paul's reply was absentminded, and Straker realized that he had finally seen their hostess.

Given another six or seven inches, she would have been called a sex goddess. But with her ample charms confined to a short stature, she would have been reduced to being called by most people either petite or stout – neither of which were accurate. In actual fact, she was voluptuous. Short, yes, barely topping five feet. But those sixty-odd inches packed quite a wallop. One that she accentuated with her bright coral halter dress with its tiny waistline and full skirt. Obviously, they were dealing with a woman who was quite comfortable with her own sexuality. Great. Just great.

Paul was openly ogling her tanned legs, and Straker gave him a slight nudge to get his thoughts back where they needed to be. Did he really think she wouldn't be able to tell where he was looking simply because he was wearing sunglasses? Straker bit back a sigh. He supposed it could have been worse. Foster could have been eying her cleavage instead.

Instead of sunglasses, she wore a large-brimmed straw hat. Her eyes looked dark in its shade, but he thought they were brown. Her short hair was barely visible beneath the hat, but it looked brown too. She should have been ordinary. Her features, although somewhat delicate, were certainly not remarkable in any way. But when his eyes met hers, he felt the impact to his toes. He ignored it, refusing to go down that road. That way led to disaster.

Then she smiled. "Mr. Straker, a pleasure." She shook his hand, and he felt the connection rock through him once more. He could tell that she felt it too, because her eyes widened momentarily, and she quickly dropped his hand.

He rode out the shock, then ignored it completely as he said cooly, "Miss Felt. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. This is Paul Foster, one of our directors."

"Hello." Paul turned the word into a caress as he reached for her hand.

But instead of taking it, she turned to the children on either side of her, laying a hand on their shoulders. "This is Shikila and Donato. Welcome to Respitio. Do you have your things?"

"Yes," Straker said.

"Then come this way." And she led them around some bushes to where a jeep was parked in the shade of a tall banana tree. She directed them to stow their bags into the open back of the vehicle and went around to the driver's seat. Foster quickly hopped into the front passenger seat, relaxing there with his arm across the back of the front seats.

Straker helped the young girl, Shikila, into the back seat, and she offered him the spot next to her. Her brother, or so he assumed by the way they good-naturedly squabbled along the way, sat on his other side. And they peppered him nonstop with questions about England and film-making. He answered them in his quiet way, but looked up once and met their hostess' eyes in the rearview mirror. She was smiling at him. And apparently deaf to everything Foster was asking her in the seat beside her.

The drive wasn't long, but it was fairly bumpy. They neared the beach, then the road curved and the house came into sight. It was magnificent. There really was no other word for it. Built into the side of a granite hill, it looked as if it had grown there by its own whim. Glass windows shone like jewels in the light of the midday sun. Balconies and decks jutted out from the stone at varying levels. It was a work of art more than a house, and Straker was bemused by its appeal - not just to the eye, but to the heart.

She ushered them into the cool shade of the main floor and introduced them to her housekeeper. "Rosita will show you to your rooms. We can talk once you've had a chance to refresh yourselves," she said, then disappeared up another set of steps while the housekeeper smiled and led them up the main staircase. The children followed along, Shikila holding onto Straker's hand until her mother shooed both her and her brother away, telling them to run and play in a dialect of Spanish that Straker was barely able to translate.

Their hostess had placed them in rooms next to each other. Straker's room, and he assumed Paul's as well, had a gorgeous view of the beach and the Atlantic. The commander unpacked swiftly, then went to stand on the balcony outside his room. He grabbed a peach from the basket on a side table and brought it out with him, biting into it with pleasure as he surveyed the island around him. Maybe Cochran had the right idea about peaches after all, he thought as he stood enjoying the view. Fresh were so much better than store bought.

There was a knock at the door of his room, and he said, "Come in." The door opened, and Col. Foster entered with a grin.

"This place is incredible," he said enthusiastically. "Have you checked out the bath yet? Mine has a sunken tub made of marble!"

It was probably a simulated marble, Straker thought, quite aware that real marble was too heavy to use in such abundance anywhere but on the ground floor. But he let Paul have his thrill. He doubted if the younger man often had the opportunity to rub elbows with the truly rich. Most of his girlfriends were starlets, after all. Not those who had already made their mark and had money to burn.

"I'm going to go down and have the meeting with our hostess," he said. "I want you to head back the way we came and get a closer look at that damaged area."

"Alright. You want readings and photos too? Or just my take on the damage?"

"I want as much as you can get me," said the commander. "If negotiations don't go well, we'll be leaving fairly quickly. I want everything you can get – and then some. Just in case we don't stay long."

"Right." Foster frowned, then said, "It isn't a done deal then?"

"Not yet. Let's hope she likes what we're offering."

"Okay." Happy to leave the finer points of contract-making in the hands of the expert, Paul headed out, stopping in his room first to gather up his backpack.

And Straker headed downstairs to speak to their hostess – who was already going to be harder to deal with than he'd originally thought. He hoped like hell that she had changed out of that dress.

She hadn't.

He schooled his features to their absolute blandest and sat down on the couch across from her. The sitting room was sunken (like Paul's tub) and boasted a wall of glass that looked out over the beach. There were three couches and various small footstools in the seating area, as well as a low circular coffee table in the center.

"We're less formal here on the island," she told him, sitting back against the cushions with a small smile. "But we could move this to my office – if you prefer?"

She _was _quick, he decided, if she'd picked up on his discomfort. He made an effort to relax and gave her a smile of his own. "Not at all, Miss Felt. This is fine." He pulled the forms out of his briefcase and set them on the coffee table between them. "Please look over the contract carefully. If you have any questions, it's better to get them answered now than to deal with misunderstandings later."

"I agree," she said, picking up the sheaf of papers and starting to read. Almost immediately, she looked up and said, "_Global_ distribution? You can offer that?"

He bit back a smile. He'd known it would be a major selling point for her, and even though it would force him to call in favors from producers all over the world, he was willing to do it. He needed her cooperation. "We're small," he told her. "But we have a long reach."

Her smile widened into a grin. "Apparently."

She sat back and continued reading, and he took the opportunity to observe her without seeming to as he looked around the room. Her hair was redder than it had seemed under her hat. It looked to be a deep auburn, and he wondered what it would look like in full sun? Probably closer to copper or . . . He shut down that train of thought and went on to the next. It was nearly impossible to tell her age from her face. He knew her to be in her mid to late forties, but there was nothing in her face or her figure to give that away. And since there was also none of the telltale signs of a facelift, he had to assume she just naturally aged well. Her figure was still remarkably shapely, with none of the obvious thickening around the stomach that occurred at the onset of the middle age years. Perhaps living on an island kept her fit. A diet of stress and coffee had done it for him, but he doubted that she had needed such measures.

She set the papers down on her lap when she finished and gazed at him, her eyes staring into his as if she would search out all his secrets. He held that gaze, although his heart rate accelerated. He needed her to trust him. Or they'd never get anywhere.

"Tell me something, Mr. Straker," she said finally.

"What is that, Miss Felt?"

"Why would you do this? Why this documentary? What do hawksbill turtles mean to a film producer in England? Have you ever even seen one before?"

"I haven't," he admitted, sitting back and relaxing. They were past the hard part now, and down to motivation. Do-gooders didn't just want your help, he had found over the years. They wanted you to _want_ to help, as well. "But I'm very conscious of the fragility of our planet's ecosystem. It's something that has concerned me for some time, and when I recently heard a lecture given on the coral reef crisis, I checked it out further and found that the hawksbill plays a vital role in keeping our coral reefs productive. From there it was fairly easy to find out who to speak to about it. You are considered the foremost authority on hawksbills. And your island is the perfect place to film them in their natural habitat. So there you have it. A documentary just begging to be made."

"You're a conservationist?" she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. "I'm for Earth, Miss Felt. And for keeping it safe. Only a fool wouldn't be."

She laughed, a rich sound that echoed through his body long after she had signed the contract and offered him coffee.

"How soon can you get your crews out here?" she asked when they were drinking her delicious Columbian blend.

"Tomorrow at first light," he said and smiled at her surprise. "They're standing by, waiting for the word. You see, Miss Felt. Things flow better when you're prepared for every eventuality."

She shook her head at him. "You should not be running a small studio in England," she said unexpectedly.

"Oh?" He had no idea what she meant by that statement.

She grinned at him over the rim of her cup. "You should be in charge of Universal or MGM at the very least."

He nearly flushed at her praise. "Well, I don't know about that. But my methods seem to work well enough for the films we do."

"I have no doubt of that."

**Chapter 4 **

After dinner, their hostess set up lawn chairs on the sparse grass of the front lawn, and they watched the sun set over the waves. One by two, villagers came and joined them, some with instruments that they played softly while they chatted about the day. It was the most relaxing party Straker had ever attended, and he was in no hurry to rush off to hear Paul's report. The colonel had returned barely in time to change for dinner, and was even now restless and bored as the evening wore on with no end in sight. He'd tried once more to engage their hostess in conversation, but she'd treated him very much like a troublesome child and deftly turned aside all his advances. Straker figured Foster would either explode at her or sulk for the remainder of their visit. He couldn't quite decide which would be worse.

He wondered if he should speak to him, but sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that. He was hardly in a position to counsel him, since he himself was not immune to her charms. There were several lovely island women in the crowd tonight. Perhaps one of them would catch the colonel's eye and give his thoughts another direction.

The commander was surprised at the informality that existed between their hostess and the villagers. They obviously looked up to her; but she – instead of basking in their approval – seemed to hold them in equal esteem. In fact, there was one old gentleman to whom she gave a beautiful smile and a kiss on his cheek as he joined them, giving him her chair and sitting at his feet to talk to him. He spoke in the raspy voice of the very elderly, using the odd dialect of Spanish that Straker had noticed earlier. Miss Felt didn't seem to have any trouble following his words, although the commander was fortunate to catch one in every three. They seemed to be discussing the weather, but in such a way as to make him wonder at them. Because they weren't discussing the weather they'd experienced in the past week or even the current conditions. They were discussing the weather for the next week, and talking about it as though there was no doubt of it being just the way the old man said. Straker began to think that the old man must be one of the local shaman. If that were so, then it was no wonder that she placed such value on his words.

The commander let the talk and the music flow around him; bemused by it, but not taking part in it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so relaxed . . . and decided that he would make an effort during this week on the island to enjoy what recreation nature was offering him. Who knew, with a job like his, when he'd get another chance to de-stress?

Anne watched him surreptitiously. He was very different from the man she had expected to meet, and it puzzled her why that was so. She had expected more of his military background to show, for one thing. But other than the way he stood and the way he spoke as if expecting to be obeyed, she couldn't find any signs of it. In fact, so far was he from the overbearing, pompous, self-important ex-officer she'd braced herself to meet that she almost doubted her own research. He certainly didn't act like any full colonel she knew. Perhaps the past twenty years as a studio executive had changed him. She thought for a moment how much she herself had changed in the past ten years and decided that she should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. But it had been a risk to even let him come here, and she didn't want to end up wishing she'd been more cautious. She abhorred the thought of falling victim to a scenario that seemed too good to be true. Such scenarios usually were. And too many lives depended on her for her to let her guard down for a pretty face.

She sighed. His face was undoubtedly pretty. Not pretty-boy , like his director friend. But interesting pretty, like the face of a fallen angel. Like someone who had seen and done things far beyond the normal sphere. A face with stories to tell.

He moved his head just then and met her eyes. And she blushed, realizing that she'd been staring. She quickly turned back to Yasif and asked him about his newest great grandson.

The old man was no fool, but he didn't say anything about her pink cheeks. Instead, he settled more comfortably in the chair and told her all the wondrous things that the newest member of his large family had done today.

"My God! Is that all the excitement they get up to on this island?" Foster asked in disgust once they were alone.

Straker just smiled and said, "It's away from civilization for a reason, Paul. What did you find at the crash site?"

The colonel showed him the images on his laptop. "There were no remains of any ship at the site. No ash from a self-destruct, and no debris from a complete wreck. You've got the damaged foliage – and nothing to show what caused it."

"Readings?"

"No sign of the metal the aliens use for their spacecraft. One or two questionable elements, but nothing extreme. Just an odd alloy or two. But the meter was acting wonky the whole time I was taking readings, so it's possible that it just read them wrong."

"Did you calibrate it beforehand?"

"Of course!"

The reply was so immediate and sincere that Straker didn't doubt it. "Well, is the meter functioning properly now?"

Foster frowned. "I don't know. I'll check." He left Straker's room, but quickly came back in with the meter, turning it on and using it with the various metallic objects in the room.

"It seems to be working fine now. I don't get it."

Straker sat back and closed the laptop. "I do. Something in the general vicinity of that crash site caused the meter to malfunction. Perhaps one of those questionable alloys."

"But what does it mean?" Paul asked. "Are the aliens trying something new?"

"I wouldn't put it past them," the commander said. "But it would be foolish to assume too much without further analysis. The rest of the team will be here in the morning. I'm putting you in charge of assigning the shifts. While the rest of us are filming turtles, I want a crew at that crash site getting us more information."

Paul found it impossible to sleep. He was used to the sounds of the city, muted as they were from his high-rise flat. The sounds of the island were creepy and unfamiliar, making him toss and turn and get no real rest. He had to be alert and ready for the morning. Commander Straker was relying on him to set things up for the day's film shoot, as well as for the behind the scenes crew. He couldn't do that exhausted.

He finally got up from the bed and pulled on swim trunks. Maybe he could swim for a bit; tire himself out so that he could rest. He padded barefoot down the outside stairs off the balcony and headed down the beach. The night was balmy, and the sand beneath his feet still carried some of the heat from the day. The sound of the waves against the shore lulled him into a stupor, and he forgot about swimming and just walked . . .

. . . until he saw something that made his heart leap to his throat. He ran into the water, keeping his eye on the place where the figure had disappeared, hoping like hell that he caught sight of it again. There it was. But now that he was closer, he could tell that the woman wasn't in any danger of drowning, as he had first thought. She was laughing as the waves tossed her about, enjoying herself immensely as she was pulled under and came up again.

He felt like an idiot for rushing to the rescue. He started to turn and head back to the beach, but she caught sight of him standing there and stopped playing, standing up in the water and coming toward where he stood. He was surprised. She was a dark-haired beauty with pale skin that shone white in the moonlight and the blackest eyes he'd ever seen. And she was completely naked.

It didn't seem to bother her in the least, but Paul wasn't nearly as uninhibited as he wanted people to think, and he was shocked. Not by the fact that she swam naked. After all, skinny-dipping was a favorite pastime of his. But by the fact that she was so completely unembarrassed by her nakedness.

"Hi," she said as she got closer.

"Hi," he answered, trying to keep his eyes on her face.

"Are you wanting to play too?" she asked with a small smile.

"Ah . . .no. Actually, I thought you were hurt, and I . . ."

Her smile widened. "And you were coming to my rescue. How sweet. What's your name, noble paladin?"

"Foster. Paul Foster."

She came closer. "Well, Paul Foster. Now that you've rescued me, would you like to play?"

He grinned suddenly, relaxing for the first time since he'd seen her. "Sure."

She put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist all in one lithe move, almost knocking him off his feet. Her laughter sent shivers of delight down his spine as he kissed the water off her throat.

"Do you have a name, fair mermaid?" he asked breathlessly at one point.

"Leona," she murmured, bringing his lips back to hers.

Straker stared at the ceiling above him. Dark wave patterns from the ocean beyond his windows created unique designs in the moonlight that shifted across the surface of the ceiling, reminding him of his mural back home in his HQ office. He should be asleep. The music and the chatter of the party had relaxed him to the point of almost falling asleep in his lawn chair. Which would have been embarrassing if he hadn't realized it in time and made his excuses to his hostess.

But the talk with Paul had brought him fully awake once more, so that now he laid here in his comfortable bed, unable to get back to that drowsy state he'd been in before coming inside. The party had long ago ended, and the only sounds he could hear outside were the swoosh of the waves and the cries of the night creatures on the island. He had no idea how long he'd been lying here trying to go to sleep. Hours, perhaps. But he was sick of trying.

He got up and donned his robe over his pajamas. He'd been careful to pack his summer weights for this trip to the tropics, so he wasn't hot as he ventured outside, even though the night was balmy. He enjoyed the feel of the warm sand underfoot, glad that he hadn't stopped to put on his slippers. He walked to the water's edge, feeling the wet sand between his toes and looking at the moon's reflection dancing over the waves. One moon, he thought. And so many reflections. And somewhere further away, other beaches had moon reflections dancing on their waves too. How did one moon handle covering all that space?

He sighed. Dr. Jackson had been on him again, trying to get him to slow down. He'd be pleased, the commander thought, to see how much stress Straker had shed since coming here to this island. One day had made such a difference in his stress levels. Probably blood pressure too. But the weight of the world could never be completely forgotten, and for the first time he considered whether he would make it to retirement. He was fifty-two. Not a bad age for a man to be – unless he was overworked and overstressed and wondering if he would manage to stave off the breakdown Jackson was sure he was headed for long enough to retire at sixty. He'd like retirement, he was certain. No unceasing demands. No late night calls. Maybe he'd plant roses. He could see himself tending rosebushes from day to day, nipping off the dead ones and pruning back the branches to encourage new growth. Such a restful way to spend the day. No lives hanging in the balance of every decision. No fallen comrades to mourn. No phone calls to bereaved widows or girlfriends. Just roses. It sounded ideal.

He sighed and turned from his contemplation of the ocean, hands in the pockets of his robe as he wandered down the beach. He had eight years before he could even entertain such a scenario. And since he was already so weary he could feel it in his bones, what were his odds of making it eight more years in order to enjoy planting those roses? But early retirement was out of the question. Not only wasn't there a viable replacement for him, but no one got early retirement from a position like his. Not without being at death's door.

He looked up from his musings to see his hostess watching him from beneath a palm tree, her eyes as dark as the night around her. "What . . . ?" he said, surprised to see her there.

She motioned for him to join her, smiling as she pointed to the sand nearby. "They're hatching," she whispered.

He looked. And saw untold numbers of tiny turtles crawling out of the sand and heading for the reflective surface of the ocean. They were completely silent, but totally determined as they made their way laboriously toward the water – and safety. The sight moved him in a way that nothing had done in a very long time. So tiny, he thought. So defenseless. If they took too long to reach the water, dawn would arrive with scores of seagulls who would gladly feast on them, diminishing their numbers to none. He stood mesmerized as he watched them, struggling with every step they took, learning to walk as they went. One of them lost his way and circled back, heading for the place he'd hatched from. Miss Felt gave a soft cry and scooped him up, murmuring encouragement to him as she turned him around and got him headed the right direction again.

And Straker looked at her, seeing her clearly for the first time since he'd met her. She too felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. Without the hatchlings that she protected through her conservation efforts, there would be far too few hawksbill turtles to survive to adulthood. To feed on the soft underwater grasses of the coral reef. To keep it healthy enough for all the other life forms that lived there to flourish. And without a healthy coral reef, all life on Earth would teeter on the edge of extinction.

He almost reached for her, but stopped himself in time, holding himself on a tight rein.

She sensed his tension and turned to him, meeting his eyes with a question in her own. Her dark eyes widened as she held his smoldering gaze, her breath catching in her throat as the air around them thickened.

He took a step toward her . . . then heard a soft splash that made him look toward the water. A few of the tiny turtles had reached the waves and were falling into the ocean, letting the outgoing surge carry them away. He looked back at her and saw that she was unaware of what her hatchlings were doing, still caught up in the spell that had almost taken them over.

He swallowed and said, somewhat huskily, "Thank you for showing me the turtles, Miss Felt. Good night."

She blinked in bewilderment as he walked back toward the house.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Anne denied and continued surfing the web for information for her latest novel.

"Come on! I know that look. What happened?"

Anne sat back with a sigh and looked at her friend. "I guess I'm just not used to holding conversations half-dressed. Maybe I should practice so I can get it right."

A brow was lifted at that bitter tone. "Well, well! Someone got under your skin. Give! Was it the dark haired Casanova?"

Anne snorted. "Not likely."

Her friend came closer and perched on the edge of the desk. "Then I know. It was the really lovely blonde one. Like a fresh glass of lemonade, that one!"

Anne frowned at her friend. "Are you –? I'm not sure it would be a good idea for you to go after that one."

"Because you want him for yourself?"

"No! Because that one never stops thinking. And we really don't need a lot of questions being asked, especially now."

Her friend gave a gusty sigh. "You're right. Why are you always right? But it might have been fun – just to see if I could get his attention. Is his voice as lovely as it seems in the movies?"

Anne sighed, then caught herself and frowned, shrugging. "I guess." _Like velvet against the skin._

"So what happened? Did he proposition you when he saw you in your negligee?"

"Of course not!" Heat rose to her cheeks, and she closed her robe with a snap. "I had my robe on! I was just checking on the babies. I thought some might hatch tonight, and I was right. They did."

"I see. And he saw you out there and followed you down to the beach."

"No. He didn't. He came down on his own. He stood and looked out to sea for a long time. I figured he was having trouble sleeping too."

"And you felt sorry for him and started talking to him."

"No! Will you cut that out? I didn't do anything of the kind! He started walking toward where I was, and I didn't want him to accidentally step on a hatchling."

"Of course."

"If you're just going to roll your eyes at me, you can go away."

"Sorry. So what happened to upset you?"

"Nothing."

Her friend easily read that expression and said softly, "You don't know?"

Anne shook her head. "We were discussing the hatchlings, and then . . . we weren't. I don't know. Maybe I was too bold. Maybe I offended him. Or something."

"What did you do?"

Another shrug. "I just . . . looked at him. But he looked at me first! At least, it seemed that way."

"And then?"

Anne turned back to the computer with another shrug. "Then he said good night and went back inside."

"Ah!"

"What 'ah'?"

"The plot thickens."

"Oh, for goodness sake! This isn't a novel. It's real life! Things don't happen in real life the way they do in novels. You know better than that. Aren't you the one who's always telling me that?"

"Yeah. But it's sounding to me like you've managed to find yourself something ever rarer than hawksbills. Good luck dealing with it!"

"What?" Anne demanded as her friend hopped off the desk and went to leave the office. "What's rarer than a hawksbill? Leona?"

"An honest-to-goodness gentleman," her friend said with a grin before softly closing the door behind her.

**Chapter 5**

There were a few stragglers in the morning, and Straker was glad to see that his film crew had immediately set to work and were fending off the seagulls in order to get footage of the last of the tiny turtles reaching the ocean. He knew from the statistics he'd studied before coming here that Miss Felt had been instrumental in causing the number of hawksbills to rise over the past ten years – about as long as she'd owned the island, in fact. And not just rise, but flourish. And if the numbers of babies he had seen last night were any indication of an average litter, there might come a day when the turtle was off the endangered list completely. And they would owe it all to her. Their very own guardian angel.

He wondered if there was a way for him to make her job a little easier? Then he winced, remembering Alec's demand that he promise not to give her any money from the film's proceeds. Well, perhaps he could give some of the profit to her favorite hawksbill conservation group instead. He hadn't promised not to do that, now had he?

Foster was in much better spirits this morning, and had already sent off a few of the crew to 'check out' other spots on the island for possible filming locations. Straker hoped that they would find where the UFO had gotten to. He thought of the villagers he'd seen last night, and hoped that they would never know what had come into their midst. They simply _had_ to find that UFO.

Miss Felt wasn't the only one who wanted to save the world.

"Coward!"

"Shut up."

"Scaredy-cat!"

"Go away!"

Rosita chuckled as she brought the tray of muffins into the office. "You two sound as bad as Shikila and Donato."

Leona laughed. "Rosita, she refuses to go down and watch them shoot the film. She's terrified to see him after last night!"

Anne grabbed a muffin and stuffed it in her friend's mouth. "He must have to deal with crazy fans all the time. How awful if he thought I was one of them!"

Rosita handed her a muffin. "Here. Eat. Nothing seems so bad after you eat."

Anne grinned. "Thanks. Help, I'll accept. Ridicule can go fly a kite!"

Leona just smirked at her glare.

There was silence while the muffins were consumed. Then Anne looked at her friend. "You're certainly chipper this morning. Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Leona said, smiling demurely. "Loads!"

"How's your leg?"

"Almost healed," Leona said, propping her shapely leg onto the table and showing the thin red line that ran down the back of her calf.

Anne looked at it critically. "Hmmm. A few more days should do it."

Leona rolled her eyes. "Days? Come on! It should be gone by tomorrow. Carmina's salve always works fast."

Anne looked at the housekeeper. "What do you think, Rosita? Tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Rosita gave the wound a cursory glance. "The day after."

Leona groaned. "Man!"

"Look," Anne said earnestly. "We don't need unnecessary questions from these guys. If the situation were normal, we could probably come up with an excuse that would explain your injury. Jellyfish or something stupid like that. But these guys are ex-military. They'll smell a rat quicker than you can blink. So you stay out of sight until we're sure you're okay."

"I could wear pants."

Anne lifted a brow. "In this heat? Get real."

"Dammit." Leona pouted.

"What's the problem?" Anne asked. "It's only another day or so. I know it sucks to be kept hidden, but it's for your own safety. And not for very long either."

Leona gave a shrug. "I know. It's just that I wanted to meet him. It's not the same as watching him out a window. And he's so sexy in the movies."

Anne stared at her for a long moment. "Are you nuts?" she asked finally, her voice vibrating with strong emotion. "He's a retired Air Force colonel. You think he's not going to see right through you in no time at all? We still don't know why he picked now to come out here! He might know about the crash. He might have been sent here to check it out. Then what, Leona? Are you willing to risk capture? Torture? Or worse?"

"No," she answered, very subdued.

Anne ran a distracted hand through her hair. "Jesus! Can't your libido take a vacation once in a while? Do you have to have every man you see?"

"Hey!"

Abruptly, Anne pushed away from the table and ran out of the room.

Leona started to get up to go after her, but Rosita laid a hand on her shoulder to keep her in her chair. "Best let it be, child," she said.

"What's her deal?" Leona asked irritably.

Rosita sighed. "She doesn't want you to die. And sometimes you don't think about those things yourself."

Shikila had appointed herself his personal shadow. Whether he was discussing camera angles or overseeing the craft service setup, she tagged along, not seeming to get bored at all by the talk that went on over her head. She was a quiet child, all eyes, and in spite of the inconvenience of having her underfoot, Straker didn't do anything to dissuade her. He was so used to being alone that he was surprised to find having a constant companion a pleasant change. He got her a ball cap that sported an embroidered turtle on the front from one of the crew. She gave him a big smile when he put it on her head and immediately ran over to one of the mirrors to see how she looked in it. He grinned as she checked herself from all sides. Women were the same the world over, no matter what their age.

He glanced up and saw Miss Felt talking to the assistant director. She was listening more than talking, but every once in a while she nodded. She looked withdrawn this morning, and he wondered how much of that was his fault? He'd tried – very hard – to dismiss what had almost happened under the tree last night. To erase it from his mind completely. But he'd been singularly unsuccessful. And he wondered if she was concerned now that he would try to force his attentions on her. She was used to film producers, after all. He wouldn't want her to think he was just like the rest of them.

He walked over to join their conversation, his small shadow skipping to catch up with his longer strides.

"Well, yes, ma'am," Major Hudson was saying. "But it would look nicer on camera to have someone in the shot to show the relative difference in size of the adult turtle to a person. If we just film it underwater or on a log, we won't get that ratio. Hello, sir," he said, tipping his ball cap as the commander came up.

"Hudson. Miss Felt. Is there a problem?"

"Well, sir. Miss Felt doesn't want us to use one of the locals in any of the shots."

"I see." Straker glanced around at the many villagers sitting on the lawn, watching the crews work. "They're not interested in making movies, Miss Felt?"

"Yes. They're interested," she said quietly. "But it's a religious conflict, Mr. Straker. They believe that if you take their image, you take their soul."

He frowned. "I didn't realize that. Hudson, make sure the film crew knows not to snap any pictures of the villagers."

"Yes, sir."

"Perhaps you would be willing to be in the shot, Miss Felt?" he asked.

She looked startled. "Me? Oh. I'm not very photogenic. Actually."

"Is that so?"

She blushed, but gave a shrug. "I generally hate how I look in pictures, Mr. Straker. Why don't you use one of the film crew? Or Mr. Foster? I'm sure he's photogenic."

"Are you really that camera-shy, Miss Felt?" he asked her.

She looked at him swiftly, something almost like fear in her eyes. Then she said, "Fine. I'll do it. Just . . . just make it a quick shot, okay?"

"Right!" Hudson grinned at her before heading down to where the film crew was setting up the shot.

Straker put his hand on her arm before she could follow the assistant director. "Miss Felt."

"Yes?" she asked, giving him one swift glance, then looking toward where the crew were at the water's edge.

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot. If you truly are camera-shy, we can use someone else."

She swallowed. "No. It's . . . it's okay. I don't mind. Really."

She was as white as a sheet, which took some doing considering she had a lovely tan. He moved in front of her, forcing her to meet his eyes. "What is it?" he asked softly. "Anne, what's wrong?"

Tears sprang into her eyes at his gentle tone, but she shook her head, denying them. "I'm fine."

"You're obviously not," he said firmly. "It's not a crime to be camera-shy. There is no need to put yourself through this. We can use someone else."

Her eyes searched his for a moment. "You won't . . . you won't use one of the villagers?"

"No, of course not."

She sighed deeply, her arms coming around herself in a calming gesture. "Alright. Okay then. Thank you." And at that, she turned and headed back to the house.

He stood frowning until she disappeared from view.

"What was that all about?"

Straker turned to where Paul stood nearby. He'd obviously caught some of what had just transpired. "I'm not sure," the commander said.

"Do you really think she's camera-shy? Or does she just have something to hide?"

Straker met his eyes, then shook his head. "No. She was honestly terrified of getting in front of the camera. It's not an unusual phenomenon, Paul. We forget sometimes in our business that not everyone feels comfortable having every move they make documented."

Foster snorted. "Then why didn't she just say so? Why the theatrics?"

"That is a very good question," the commander said. "She was terrified, but she was also willing to do it anyway. Why? Where was the need?"

"Did she think we'd use one of her precious villagers instead if she didn't cooperate?"

Straker looked at him in surprise, then glanced around at the people sitting on the lawn. "Yes, Paul," he said slowly. "I think that's exactly what she was afraid of. I wonder why?"

Foster shrugged, already tired of the subject. "Well, they're just locals. It's stupid to get worked up about them like that. We can use Drake instead. I'll go tell Hudson."

"Fine," the commander said absently, his gaze tracking through the large crowd of local watchers. He was beginning to have a very bad feeling about this trip.

**Chapter 6**

"Yasif."

"My dear child," the old man answered, his lined face creasing into a smile of welcome. "Come, sit a while and talk to me."

"Thank you." Anne sat on the dirt floor at his feet rather than in the chair he had pointed out for her. "Yasif . . . I'm so sorry. I think I may have done something very stupid."

The old man chuckled. "Now, my dear girl," he said, reaching out to pat her arm. "In all the years we've known each other, I have never once seen you do anything foolish. How can that have changed now?"

She sighed heavily. "Because women will always be stupid when it comes to men. It's a given, I think."

"Ah! This is about that nice boy with the sad eyes."

She looked at him, startled by his description as much as by his insight, but he only chuckled again and said, "I am old, my child. But my eyes still work. I saw how you looked at him."

She blushed, but said, "Yasif, Leona says that the only reason I can write about men the way I do is because I've never really known one. Is that true? Are they as selfish and willful as she says?"

"My child, I am certain that you've met many men in your travels. Why do you ask me what you must already know?"

"Because I don't trust my own judgment anymore! Because they haven't all seemed selfish to me. Some of them have even been kind. But what if I'm wrong?"

"About what, child?"

"About him!" She ran a hand through her short hair, making it stand on end. "What if I was wrong to trust him? To let him come here – when I knew the risks. When I knew what he could be."

"And do you trust him still?"

"I don't know," she said forlornly. "I don't think I understand him very well. He seems one way, but then . . . then I just don't know! And today – oh, Yasif! I thought I was doing the right thing and protecting all of you. But he called my bluff, and I . . . I think he suspects something now. When I was trying so hard to keep that from happening!"

"Well, child. What is the worst that can come of this?"

She swallowed. "What if he takes you all away? Puts you in a prison camp – or worse! I couldn't bear it, Yasif! And it would be all my fault for trusting him! For believing he could care about the things that matter to me!"

He stared out the window for a long time, patting her hair every once in a while as she sobbed out her worries. When she finally dried her eyes on her arm like the child he called her, he said, "When we came here, we had nothing. And even less than that. You gave us a home. And a future. We have enjoyed peace and prosperity for these ten years – and that has been all your fault too, my dear. If that is to end now, then at least we had these years to enjoy first."

"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "I won't let them take you. Any of you! They can go to hell! They can all just go to hell!" She got up and headed for the door of his hut, but he stopped her before she reached it.

"My child, do you believe he would do this thing to us?"

She looked back at him with a frown. "I don't know, Yasif. I just don't know."

He nodded, then said, "Then perhaps it cannot come from your head. Perhaps this trust must come from your heart. Forget what you know for a minute, my child. What do you _feel_?"

She shook her head in despair. "That's what I can't trust in this instance, Yasif. My heart has betrayed me, and I just can't trust it anymore."

"My child, when you have lived as long as I have, you know that your heart never betrays you. No matter what road it takes you down."

She stared at him for a long time, then bowed her head and left. Her whispered 'thanks' drifted back on the breeze.

"Are you able to get any readings?"

Lt. Spunkmeyer nodded, showing Col. Foster his meter. "Yes, sir. This little baby is as tough as they come. It takes a great deal to confuse its readouts. We've got . . . hmmm. Quite a mix of metals here. And a few that we don't have any record of."

"You're sure?"

"Oh, yeah. What crashed here, Colonel? Because it certainly wasn't a regular UFO."

"I don't . . ." Foster broke off as there was a tussle in the underbrush.

After a minute, Corporal Hicks came forward holding onto the back of a t-shirt, while the person wearing it squirmed and cussed. "Sorry, sir," the corporal said calmly. "Found someone eavesdropping."

Their eavesdropper looked up from the hold the corporal had on them, and Paul stared in shock. It was Leona.

Anne approached the film crew diffidently. They made everything seem so normal, she thought. As if they had nothing else on their minds than a documentary about hawksbill turtles. But every warning bell she ever possessed was going off, and she knew that she couldn't judge this situation by the way it looked. There was more going on here than that. She didn't know what, and she hoped like crazy that what she feared wasn't what was happening. But none of this productive scene was as it appeared to be. And it was time she found out what lay beneath the surface.

Straker looked up as she neared the group, breaking off his conversation with one of the men and coming to meet her halfway.

"Miss Felt, would you like to see what we've got so far? I think you'll be pleased with some of the shots we've been able to get."

"Thank you, Mr. Straker. Perhaps later. Could I speak with you for a moment?"

His eyes met hers in surprise, but his heart sank at how resolute she looked. "Of course."

She led him into the house and down a hall into a large library. She gestured him to a seat, then sat on the chair opposite. Her heart was pounding fiercely, but she managed to seem at least outwardly composed as she said, "It's time we were honest with each other, Mr. Straker."

"By all means, Miss Felt," he said, realizing that he had been right from the first. Something had obviously tipped her off to what they were really here for. She was just too quick, and there was a great deal at stake. "Shall I go first?"

"Please."

He sat back, forcing his body to relax against the cushions. "You are harboring fugitives on your island, and have done for some time. For reasons of your own, you've kept their secret and allowed them to live here without notifying the authorities. When their ship was detected and shot down on its way here, you realized that someone was now aware of their existence and might come to investigate. You were correct. Someone has come."

She had paled while he spoke, but her voice was steady when she said, "What do you want?"

He lifted a brow. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here to resolve this matter."

"Resolve it? How? By killing them?"

"If necessary."

She jumped up from her chair, but he waved her back with an imperious hand. She settled back down, but glared at him in defiance.

"I said, 'if necessary', Miss Felt," he said calmly. "It's up to you to prove to me that it won't be necessary. Can you?"

She looked at him for a moment, her dark eyes piercing and direct as they searched his face. "I don't know. I'm not up-to-date on what the military considers necessary measures in these circumstances. But what I have heard doesn't give me a lot of confidence in you."

He sighed. "I see. Alien autopsies, perhaps? Really, Miss Felt. I would expect you to be just a bit more skeptical than that."

She looked away for a moment. Then she said, "How did you know that they were fugitives?"

"It made no sense for you to keep them hidden away on this island otherwise."

She met his eyes in surprise. "Oh. Yes, I suppose so."

"Will you tell me about them?" he asked softly.

Anne stared at him in silence, obviously torn between trusting him and keeping their secrets.

He said, "You said it was time to be honest with each other."

She sighed. "Very well. I came here over ten years ago. I had been shopping for an island getaway at the time. I thought it would be fun." She shook her head. "I guess you had to be there to understand. I had book deals stacked a mile high and the world at my feet, and I was enjoying every minute of it." She gave him a direct look. "I was an idiot."

"I see," he said. And he did.

"Anyway, when I came here to inspect the island, I found Yasif and his family. They had crashed here a while before and had no way of getting help. A few of them were injured. They had done what they could, but the ship was badly in need of repair, and most of their supplies had been destroyed in the crash."

"So you helped them."

She looked at him, surprised that he didn't sound judgmental. "Yes. They were such a kind-hearted people. It was obvious in everything they did. From the tender way they cared for each other to the gentle way they asked for any assistance I might be willing to give them."

"You let them stay here."

"Yes. And when their pilot fixed the ship, I allowed more of them to come as well."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Their homeworld had been conquered. As a result, their entire way of life had ended – suddenly and violently. They were shipped off to prison camps and kept there under dire conditions. It was wrong. They deserved the right to live, Mr. Straker. Not to die, simply because someone bigger and stronger than they were decreed it." She laughed bitterly. "I've never been one to agree with Darwin's theory of the survival of the fittest."

"Yes," he said with a small smile. "I'd noticed."

She raised a brow in inquiry, and he explained. "You champion baby turtles that by all rights would never make it to safety on their own."

She smiled. "I suppose I do."

"Miss Felt, do you have proof that what they say they suffered on their world actually happened?"

"Yes, Mr. Straker, I do," she said firmly. "You see, I trust them."

"I see."

"Let me ask you something, sir."

He lifted a brow at her tone. "Very well."

"You've been around them now for a couple of days. Do you think they're liars? Criminals? Violent or vicious in any way? Do you think Yasif is an underworld character? Would you turn Shikila over to the tender mercies of a military tribunal?"

He remembered their soft music and the quiet chatter of the party. The old man discussing the weather. He thought of Shikila preening in front of the mirror with her new cap. Her little hand in his the day he'd arrived. "Miss Felt . . ."

But what he meant to say was lost as the door slammed open, and Paul Foster burst into the room, dragging Leona with him.

"Commander Straker," he said without preamble. "We've got a problem."

"Leona!" Anne ran to her friend and helped her to a chair, glaring at Foster all the while.

Straker got to his feet and looked over at the woman Col. Foster had brought in. He had to agree with Paul's assessment. She looked like a problem – from her mutinous face to her dirty feet.

"Well, Paul," the commander said at his blandest. "What happened?"

Foster said tersely, "We caught her spying on us. She wouldn't tell us what she was up to, so I thought we'd better bring her to you."

"Leona!" Anne said. "What were you thinking?"

"They were at the crash site, Anne," her friend said. "They were taking readings and talking about UFOs."

"Oh." Anne ran a hand through her hair. "Well . . . what were you doing outside?"

Leona shrugged irritably. "I was bored."

Her friend shook her head. "You could have been killed! Damn it, Leona! Why don't you ever think?"

Leona grinned at her. "I leave the thinking to you. You're better at it than I am."

"Miss Felt?"

She turned to Straker and said, "Oh. I'm sorry. Leona, this is Mr. Straker. Or Commander. Whatever. Mr. Straker, this is Leona, the pilot of the ship you shot down."

"You shot me down? You shot me down?" she said, coming up out of her chair.

Without a word, Anne pushed her back into the chair. "Cut it out, Leona! They thought you were hostile. At least, that's what I'm assuming."

"You assume correctly, Miss Felt," Straker said. "What part do you play in this little story, may I ask?"

"Ask all you want," Leona said defiantly, turning her shoulder to them all.

Anne rolled her eyes and came to sit next to her friend, putting an arm around her and saying, "Leona is a smuggler. A very good one, actually." She smiled at her friend before continuing. "She was being pursued by – er – someone and had to make a hasty landing on Niraura (or Turkon 3, as it's now called.) Yasif and his friends hid her from the authorities and helped her escape back to her ship."

"How did you end up back there then?" Paul asked her.

She turned to him and spat, "Yeah, right! I should have just left them there to die, I suppose! Asshole!"

"And you risk your life every time you return there?" Straker asked quietly.

Leona shrugged, but less defiantly. "Yasif still has family there. Eventually, we hope to get them all out. If they don't get killed before they can reach here."

Straker met her angry eyes and said, "I apologize for mistaking your ship for one belonging to our enemies. Visibility was poor, or my pilot would never have fired on you." He turned to Anne. "Was anyone killed in the crash?"

"No. There were a few injuries, but Carmina has them well in hand. She's our resident nurse. And Yasif's daughter."

Straker turned to Paul and said, "Thank you, Colonel. Go ahead and call back the team at the site."

"Sir?"

"You have a night shoot to organize. Miss Felt has given us the location of a possible hatching on the east side of the island, and we don't want to miss it."

"But . . . what about her?" Paul said in bewilderment, gesturing at Leona.

His commander smiled blandly. "Well, I hope she won't feel it necessary to hide from us anymore. Will we see you at dinner, Leona?"

She gave him a cheeky grin. "Sure."

**Epilogue**

"If you've been coming and going from Earth all these years, why is it that we've only just run into you?" Straker asked as he passed her the bowl of frijoles.

Leona grimaced, and Anne laughed.

"Is it a joke?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

Leona said, "I was having some trouble with my reflector. See, I had a run-in with the Farque on the way here, and as a result, some of my systems weren't quite working at their best."

"They were broken," Anne elaborated with a grin.

Her friend sighed. "Yeah. But the reflector was still going, just intermittently." She shrugged. "I guess not as well as I thought."

"I take it that your reflector is some kind of shielding device to keep you from detection?"

"Yeah. It reflects everything that's fired at it: radar, sonar, gamma bursts, you name it! Anyway, I think I've got it working again. So hopefully I won't get shot down when I try to leave."

He gave her a bland smile.

"So. You never said who you thought I was," she said after a while.

"We don't know who they are," he said quietly.

"Oh, I see. You just shoot down everything that comes within range? That's intelligent."

"Leona!" Anne said, shocked at her tone.

Straker gave her a reassuring smile. "It's alright, Miss Felt. She's allowed a few misunderstandings. After all, I feel we owe her one or two."

She smirked at Anne before turning back to him. "Well, it doesn't make sense that you don't know who you're fighting."

"Perhaps I should say that we don't know what they call themselves. Their methods and intent have been clear enough."

"Oh." Leona blinked at the grimness in his tone.

Anne said, "How long has Earth been at war with them, Mr. Straker?"

"Over twenty years, Miss Felt," he answered. "That's how long our organization has been in existence to try and stop them. They'd been coming before then, but it took a while before we had proof."

"Twenty years?" Anne shook her head in astonishment. "But – how could we hold them off for that long? Surely we don't have the technology to stop a spacefaring race from doing whatever they want?"

"It's amazing what you can do with a little determination," he said.

_And the right man in charge,_ Anne realized.

"So, what methods do they use?" Leona asked, still curious about this war she had no idea was going on.

"It's hardly a fit topic for the dinner table," Straker said.

"Come on! We're all adults," she persisted with a grin.

Paul said, "They're organ stealers. They come in, shoot at anything that moves, then gut it so that they can use the organs to keep themselves alive."

Straker sighed. "I think I could have said it a bit more diplomatically; but in essence, Col. Foster is right."

"Thoelians," Leona said darkly, all trace of humor gone from her expression.

"You know them?" Straker asked her.

She shook her head. "I know _of _them," she corrected. "Used to be you couldn't turn around in space without having to dodge one of them bastards. But they've laid low for quite some time now. Things were getting too hot for them to stick around. They'd pissed off a lot of people. I'd heard a rumor a while back that they were all gone. Extinct. Too bad they're not."

"Too bad?" Paul asked.

She gave him a wolfish grin. "Too bad for them! There's a lot of races that would dearly love to know where to find them, let me tell you. Some planets have long memories."

"Do you have any idea where they are, Mr. Straker?" Anne asked.

He shook his head. "We've been fighting a purely defensive war. As you pointed out, we really don't have the technology to go after them."

Leona gave him a wink. "Maybe you won't have to."

"Leona," Anne said sternly. "Don't even think about what you're thinking about! It's too dangerous."

Her friend shrugged carelessly. "It's just a matter of tracking them to wherever they're hiding out, then letting certain interested parties know about it. I wouldn't have to do a thing, really."

"You're a devious woman, Leona," Straker said.

She grinned at him. "Takes one to know one, I always say."

"Is this your ship?"

Leona turned and saw the colonel looking at his surroundings with interest. The cavern that hid her ship from prying eyes was hidden deep in the forested region of the island. "Yeah. Did you follow me all the way out here, pretty boy?"

Paul grinned. "Yeah. How does it feel?"

She laughed at that reminder of her adventure earlier in the day. "Come on in. I'll show you around."

He saw her on the balcony off from the dining room and went down the outside steps until he reached where she was. "May I join you?"

Anne looked over at him in the moonlight. Suddenly she felt tongue-tied, which was so ridiculous and girly that her spine stiffened in rebellion, and she said, "Of course."

They stood at the railing in companionable silence for a time, then she felt compelled to ask, "Will Leona be able to help you win the war?"

"I'm not sure," he answered gravely. "We could certainly use whatever information she is willing to share with us, but I understand that she has a prior commitment to you and Yasif."

"Mr. Straker, it would be foolish for us to ignore the greater needs of the planet over the needs of a small group of people. You may ask Yasif for yourself, but I can assure you that he would prefer that Leona work with you rather than him."

"Alright. I'll ask him. It may not be necessary for her to do more than a single trip for us; in which case, Yasif would be welcome to have her services back."

She smiled. "I think he'd agree to that."

After a while, she asked, "What will you write in your report about us?"

He sighed. "The truth. But I wouldn't worry about it, Miss Felt. No one will see that report but a very few. Your friends are safe here."

Her dark eyes searched his for a long moment. Then she said, "Thank you."

He smiled and said, "You're actually helping us a lot more than we're helping you. Especially if Leona is willing to share her technology with us."

Her lips twisted. "That I can't guarantee. Leona has always done her own thing. But she might help you. I think she likes you."

He chuckled. "She seems quite a handful."

Anne sighed. The admiration in his voice was obvious. "She is."

"But for myself," he said as he ran a hand down her cheek. "I prefer an armful." And he drew her into his arms.

"Mr. Straker!" she said, her dark eyes wide with excitement, fear, and an almost unbearable joy.

He laughed, planting kisses all over her face. "Come now, Anne. You can't tell me that you didn't know!"

"Oh! Ummm. No. Oh, how could I?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said with a quirk to his lips. "Perhaps the fact that I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since I got here?"

"Really?"

He gave a mock sigh. "I can see that I have my work cut out for me. Very well then. Come with me. I can see that nothing less than proof positive will sway you."

"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly as he led her up the outside steps.

He stopped as they reached his balcony, and he lifted her hand to his lips. "Anywhere you want to go, Anne."

She met his eyes in the darkness, and knew that Yasif had been right, as always. It was never wrong to trust your heart. "With you," she told him. "I want to be with you, Mr. Straker."

He grinned unexpectedly. "Anne," he said as he drew her into the bedroom with him. "You really must call me Ed."


End file.
